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Editorial: The cat can’t hate Mondays if it doesn’t go to work, Jim Davis

In The Garter this week, and, indeed, every week, our reporters and contributors are dedicated to bringing you the uncensored, unfiltered, editorialised truth. But there are those who seek to obliterate the hard earned legitimacy of the fourth estate. I talk specifically of Garfield, Odie and Jon Arbuckle, as if it wasn’t obvious, and their…

In The Garter this week, and, indeed, every week, our reporters and contributors are dedicated to bringing you the uncensored, unfiltered, editorialised truth. But there are those who seek to obliterate the hard earned legitimacy of the fourth estate.

I talk specifically of Garfield, Odie and Jon Arbuckle, as if it wasn’t obvious, and their sick puppeteer Jim Davis. Their hideously dull escapades punctuate the end of almost every daily paper around the world, leaving astute readers like you and me with a filthy taste in our mouth. The placement of these so-called “funnies” betrays an ultimate nihilism: that the difficult questions we ask can be resolved only by a sad, lonely man and his disobedient and cruel pets.

If I were Jon Arbuckle, Garfield and his brainless associate Odie would be in shelters before sundown (and not the “no-kill” variety!). The daily comic strip would consist of three panels of watching Lateline.

It surprises me that these purveyors of disappointment have never fallen afoul of that cruel mistress: public opinion. It surprises me that Jim Davis, has not been forced to retire the Garfield character, replacing him with one that does not talk, or wield impossible desires for human food. A real cat, if you will. A true cat.  For Garfield’s contempt of Mondays is nothing more than blatant pandering to the nine-to-five blue collar hordes. Garfield has no job, nor any reason to dislike the first day of the week. He knows nothing of the awful cycle.

Some would have you believe that in an age of declining print journalism, a rude cat and his mundane adventures are the least of our concerns. But heed my warning lest, by the year 2025, we are all trapped in some irreversible dystopia where the lasagne party requires us to turn on our mandatory Garfield broadcast to begin our six day, Mondayless weeks: I, for one, would like to keep our Mondays, and keep things like value and meaning and worth intact.

But perhaps this is old-hat. Perhaps I must make way for the fanatical desire for constant, mindless, entertainment of the new, “Garfield”, generation.

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